


Okay

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Clones, M/M, Nathan Explosion's liver donor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 16:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: Since Nathan needs a new liver every now and then, the best technology is available and ready to provide him with the best donor – himself.





	Okay

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted: Sept 14, 2009 on LiveJournal  
> Set: Late season 1 or early season 2.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Life as a clone was okay, in Clone 8’s opinion.

He knew that he was a clone because that’s what they called him — they being mostly balding men in long white coats and some guys in black who wore hoods over their faces all the time. He didn’t know what the number was for… but he figured that life was too okay to spend a lot of time thinking about something like a last name, so he mostly didn’t bother. Instead, he spent a lot of his time sleeping, watching shit on TV, and trying to ignore the annoyingly frequent tests of his bodily functions. The scientists tacked the weekly test results up on the bulletin board outside his door when his health – especially his liver – was particularly good, like proud parents. Usually, like a moody teenager, he tore them down within a day or two because no one ever just asked how he was feeling. 

Not that he would’ve known what to say if anyone ever had, because ugh. Talking. It was almost as bad as reading. 

It wasn’t like he was a lab rat or something. They let him eat whatever he wanted, as long as it wasn’t too shitty, and they didn’t force him to learn much of anything beyond how to talk and wipe his own ass. Of course, they never let him have so much as a drop of alcohol… but genetic memory being as fallible as it was, he had only a distant, dreamlike idea of what he was missing out on.

When he wasn’t sleeping, he was usually watching TV. He figured that the reception was terrible because, no matter what show he was watching, every ten or fifteen minutes there would be a weird gap of blank, black screen. And there were some channels, most of which had the word “news” attached to them in the TV guide (which had a lot of things crossed out in thick black marker for some reason), that never came through at all. But he got all of the channels with porn, so he wasn’t going to complain.

The only thing that really made life okay instead of great was that there weren’t other people around — not that he would admit to being lonely. Scientists and those hooded guys didn’t count, and they didn’t really talk to him much anyway beyond simple instructions. But so what? If they thought they were so clever then fine, they could keep their stupid secrets. He’d decided to stop asking questions around the time he’d figured out that getting frustrated with their non-answers and punching people in the face always ended with a tranquilizer dart. 

He did have one visitor, though. Sometimes. The man in the dark suit and red tie never said much to him either, but Clone 8 was good at listening and even better at eavesdropping. He knew from visits during the day that the man’s name was either Offdensen or Sir, and that he only came by while someone was still "on tour.” Whatever that meant. The details weren’t important. What mattered was that sometimes in the middle of the night Clone 8 would wake up to find Offdensen there, tucked against his chest and dozing fitfully. He didn’t think he was supposed to know about it because the guy always came while he was asleep and always left before he woke up, but it was still kinda nice to have the company.

It was one of those nights.  

Clone 8 grunted sleepily as Offdensen jabbed an elbow into his stomach, and tightened the arm that was draped across the other man. Were a lot of people this restless even when sleeping? Maybe the guy… had problems. Or didn’t get enough sleep elsewhere. Doing whatever it was he did. He always looked pretty tired. 

Offdensen kept elbowing him.

After a few minutes, Clone 8 reluctantly cracked an eye open and grumbled, “Hey. Stop that.”

There was some sort of mumbled response. Clone 8 could have sworn he heard him say “Nathan,” and then some other words he couldn’t catch. Why did that seem familiar? He’d never met anyone with that name, had he? Curious now, and a little more awake, Clone 8 yawned and propped himself up on an elbow to try and figure out what the man was so restless about.

Lying down, he’d only had a good view of the back of Offdensen’s head. Now he could see that Offdensen’s eyes were closed, and that he’d only taken off his glasses, tie, and shoes before crawling into bed – whenever that had been. Clone 8 glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that it was five in the morning, but that told him very little. The mysterious suited man could have come in minutes ago, or hours. Either way, it was kind of comical that he was only now attempting to take off his suit. 

With another yawn Clone 8 sat the rest of the way up and helped get the suit jacket off, because there was no way he’d be able to get back to sleep with that elbow going like that. Offdensen had actually managed to get it most of the way off, which was impressive considering that he was doing it one-handed while asleep and lying on his side. Clone 8 rolled him over to get the other sleeve off, and the smaller man curled a little to bury his face in Clone 8’s freshly vacated warm spot on the bed’s only pillow. 

Clone 8 leaned over him and tossed the suit jacket onto the floor with the tie and stuff, thinking that would be the end of it and he could go back to sleep. He glanced down at the man and paused, still braced up on one elbow, studying his face even though it was hard to make out in the darkened room. Then he removed Offdensen’s belt, too, because that probably wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in either. 

Roused by this (or possibly by the long hair that had slipped over Clone 8’s shoulder and was tickling the sleeper’s face), the man started to shift around again. This time he was mostly just moving his legs, but there were distressed little creases between his eyebrows. 

“Um…” Clone 8 hesitated to speak the name he’d overheard all of once or twice, just in case he was remembering it wrong or something. “… Offdensen?”

The shifting slowed at the sound of his voice, worry lines smoothing out. “Call me Charles,” he mumbled, and stilled as he drifted back to sleep. 

Well, that meant Clone 8 didn’t have to take off his pants. Now there was just the small matter of the guy hogging the pillow. With the restlessness passed, he looked asleep enough to almost pass for dead and Clone 8 didn’t really want to wake him up, so instead he just scooted himself down a little and laid his head on the mattress, already starting to drift off again. “Charles,” he repeated sleepily to himself, pleased. That was basically the most interesting conversation he’d ever had with anybody in all the months he’d been alive. 

It was nice, lying there in the corner made by the smaller man’s body and the bottom edge of the pillow. Warm. Companionable. Maybe it would have been better if he didn’t already know that Charles would be gone before the scientists came in for the first tests of the day, like always… but it was still pretty okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> I left it open to interpretation, but back when I wrote this I’m pretty sure I was going for an established relationship between Charles and the real Nathan, and then he gets insomnia whenever they’re apart so he goes down to the basement to cuddle a Nathan substitute. Now, however, I’m leaning more towards the idea that Charles’ feelings are unrequited and heavily stifled for reasons of professionalism, and he only allows himself moments of closeness with a Nathan substitute when the real Nathan is away and can’t tempt him.
> 
> Also, I’m pretty sure there would also be a Pickles clone around somewhere for whenever the real Pickles gets a dred pulled out and needs a hair transplant.


End file.
